


The Way Home

by erin_emily_writes



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erin_emily_writes/pseuds/erin_emily_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Condos." Carlos is moving again. He had grown comfortable in his apartment above the lab, and was feeling a bit nostalgic now that he was leaving, but Cecil was worth it. Carlos still didn’t quite understand it, but something about Cecil had drawn him in since they first met, and this next step was inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Home

About a week after the unfortunate incident with the condo, Carlos found himself hauling the few possessions he had out of his modest apartment above the lab and into his small car. Placing his key in the center of the bloodstone circle by the door, he took a last glance around the studio-sized room.

Carlos had grown comfortable here and was feeling a bit nostalgic now that he was leaving. He’d moved in five hundred and sixty-three days ago, woefully unprepared for everything he would soon experience. He looked at the couch, and remembered puzzling over unfelt earthquakes, clocks that didn’t work, and why he hadn’t invited Cecil in after their first date.

Oh, Cecil. Right. That’s why he was leaving. Carlos still didn’t quite understand it, but something about Cecil had drawn him in since they first met, and after his near-death experience at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, he’d finally acted on his feelings. He was shocked to realize how important Cecil had become to him, and that feeling increased exponentially after they began seeing each other. Now, Carlos couldn’t imagine a morning without waking up next to Cecil, an afternoon without visiting the radio station while the weather played, or an evening without discussing the day’s events together, showing off his latest research, or simply existing together before falling into bed again.

A low and ominous humming sound brought Carlos back to the present. It was coming from the bloodstone circle. He took it as a warning and left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him so as not to disturb the incorporeal being that lived next door. He left the building, got in the car, started it up, and made his way across town. It took longer than he expected, due to the sudden appearance of a swirling green void in the street in front of the Ralph’s.

At the end of a road with no sign, entrance marked only with a strange growth of orange and blue mushrooms on a boulder, Carlos parked behind Cecil’s light blue vintage convertible. He stepped out of the car, then leaned back in to grab a box of books from the passenger seat. He straightened up and saw Cecil on the porch, leaning against a column. His silvery hair rippled in the breeze, and he was smiling brighter than the sun in the turquoise sky.

“Carlos,” Cecil said, bouncing down the stairs and along the walk. “Beautiful Carlos. Let me help you with that.”

“Thanks, Cecil,” Carlos said, handing the box over to his boyfriend, whose expression was so positively beaming that it seemed like pure light could burst from his pores at any moment.

Cecil turned and bounded back up the stairs and into the house while Carlos took a few more boxes and bags from the back seat and carried them across the yard, up the stairs, and through the door. He nearly dropped everything when he saw that Cecil had somehow managed to unpack and arrange all his furniture, interview and radio equipment, and most of his other belongings in the hour between which Carlos had left Cecil’s apartment, returned to his own, collected his things, and arrived mere moments ago. Only a few boxes containing some various kitchen accessories and a few other odds and ends were left unopened.

“Cecil,” Carlos said, and heard that quiet purring sound Cecil makes when Carlos says his name. “How… how did you do this?”

Cecil shrugged, hands in his pockets. “City Council mandates that moving should take no more than 77-and-a-half minutes.”

Carlos just shook his head and put down his boxes. He and Cecil finished bringing in Carlos’s wardrobe, small electronics, and miscellaneous lab supplies and unpacked them. It didn’t take long, but they became a little more frantic when a dark shadow flickered past the windows in the front room and they realized it was nearing the end of Carlos’s allotted moving time. They ended up sprawled on Cecil’s old gray couch, Carlos’s feet propped up on the glass-topped coffee table, Cecil leaning up against Carlos with one leg on the floor and the other draped over the arm of the couch, his head resting on Carlos’s shoulder.

Carlos closed his eyes and absentmindedly ran his hands through Cecil’s hair. He wasn’t sure when the warmth from Cecil’s body and the evenness of his breathing lulled him to sleep, but soon, they both drifted off.

 

\-------------------------

 

Carlos blinked. He’d heard something that brought him out of his sleep, but he wasn’t sure what it was. As he came to, he realized he and Cecil had somehow fallen down the couch. His own head was now resting on an arm, Cecil’s was on his chest. Their legs were intertwined and Cecil’s arms were around Carlos’s waist.

The light streaming through the front windows was tinged with red, and Carlos realized it was late in the afternoon. His stomach growled — he hadn’t eaten since Cecil handed him a slice of non-wheat toast on the way out that morning — and Cecil laughed quietly. Carlos realized that was the sound, Cecil’s laugh like wind chimes, which woke him. He stretched his limbs and Cecil looked up at him, grinning broadly.

“I think we should eat,” Cecil said. “Shall I go pick up some pizza?”

Carlos propped himself up on his elbows. “You know what?” he said. “No. I want to cook.”

He gestured at Cecil to sit up, and he did the same. He rubbed his eyes and noticed Cecil looking at him with those bright violet eyes and puppy-dog face he uses when Carlos has apparently done something exceedingly cute.

“Okay,” Cecil said, and Carlos thought his boyfriend’s smile literally could not get any wider. “That would be pretty neat!”

“You’re pretty neat,” Carlos muttered, unable to resist the urge and leaning in to kiss Cecil once… twice, three times before getting up and going to the kitchen.

While Carlos unpacked the kitchen utensils, Cecil — still blushing a bit — turned on the radio and worked on stocking the bookshelves in the living room. _Living room_ , Carlos thought, _the room in which we will be living… together_. It was a little bit scary, if he was honest with himself. But looking through the door from the kitchen and seeing Cecil sort his municipally-approved books alphabetically, tapping his foot along with the weather from a few weeks ago, Carlos felt a pleasant and familiar flip in his stomach.

He turned back to his task, pulling pots, pans, and silverware from a box and finding drawers and cabinets to put them in. He left two plates and two sets of silverware on the counter, and a skillet on the stove. He rifled through the cabinets above the stove and the refrigerator for ingredients, and was hardly surprised that most of the food Cecil brought fell into the category of sugary breakfast items. Cecil could survive on a diet comprised solely of Lucky Charms for an alarming amount of time, though Carlos was attempting to break that particular habit. He managed to collect some peppers, squash, broccoli, and mushrooms — all of which were the wrong colors, but looked edible nonetheless — as well as some chunks of beef… or pork. It could have been either, or neither, honestly, but Carlos had learned not to question it.

Carlos liked cooking. It was quite scientific in nature. He enjoyed combining various amounts of various ingredients, testing the quality of the product, and editing the recipe to try and improve the result for the next go-round. Today, he heated the skillet and threw in the meat — which gave off a rather pleasant aroma, compensating for its questionable origins — then vegetables.

At some point, Cecil finished arranging books and knick-knacks and wandered into the kitchen, seating himself at the island bar and propping his head up with one hand, content to watch Carlos work until he finished the impromptu stir fry. 

When they had finished, Cecil cleared the plates. They had an agreement — if Carlos cooked, Cecil cleaned. It usually turned out that way, since Cecil rarely made anything but pancakes or quiches or scones. Carlos offered to help tonight, but Cecil pushed him out of the kitchen with strict orders to just relax for a while. Carlos didn’t argue.

 

\------------------------

 

“I’ve never had a porch before,” Carlos mused as they sat on the front stairs, watching the sun set at the wrong time but still turn the sky into a vivid jumble of colors. Carlos sat on the top step while Cecil stretched his long legs down toward the bottom stair. They each held a glass of what Cecil had called lemonade, but Carlos decided that word must mean something very different in Night Vale, because his idea of lemonade was definitely not blue and smoking.

Cecil looked at him with an expression that was mostly surprise but was a little sad, too. “No?”

“No,” Carlos replied. “I’ve never even had a house before. We lived in apartments in L.A., then I went to school, worked for a bit in Seattle... then I came here and moved in above the lab.”

“Huh,” Cecil said.

The pair drank their lemonade and stared out across the street and the relatively barren landscape to where they could just see the lights above the Arby’s. Cecil had nearly strangled Carlos in excitement after seeing them the first time, insisting it was a sign from the void or the City Council or something that they absolutely had to move in there. And now, just sitting and looking and feeling the closeness, Carlos knew Cecil had been right.

Suddenly Cecil was no longer a few inches from Carlos’s side. He was standing in the yard, arms wide, gesturing around at the property. He cleared his throat and Carlos knew the next words out of Cecil’s mouth would be in his radio voice — a little deeper, a little louder, and covered in a little more honey than usual.

“Dear, sweet Carlos.”

There it was. The Voice of Night Vale, speaking just for him.

“Just over one year ago, I welcomed you to Night Vale. I welcomed you to this town, to City Council meetings, to encounters with librarians and hooded figures and angels that don’t exist and the man in the tan jacket. To scientific anomalies the likes of which you’ve never dreamed, and… well, to me.” Cecil paused, and his voice quieted slightly. “I’d like to be the first to officially welcome you to our new house.”

Before he knew it, Carlos had closed the gap between himself and Cecil and was kissing him, one hand in his hair and one under his chin. They held each other close, body heat fighting off the growing chill of the desert night. They only broke apart when Cecil’s trained ears heard the far-off sound of a helicopter getting closer. He wordlessly took Carlos’s hand and led him inside, and Carlos recognized the warm feeling creeping through him. The reassuring pressure of Cecil’s hand in his, the sight of all their possessions gathered together, the taste of Cecil on his lips… it was belonging. After five-hundred and sixty-three days in Night Vale, Carlos finally felt at home.


End file.
